One More Miracle
by MelLawrence
Summary: How I imagine Sherlock's return.


**One more miracle.**

After several months of suffering from insomnia, John felt that he was slowly going to rediscover sleep, which he hoped to be the first step to normalising his life. He enjoyed those rare hours when he was asleep, because they helped him forget about reality.

At first he struggled to fill emptiness caused by Sherlock's death with work and other activities, but soon he realised it was virtually impossible. His current life didn't differ much from what he had been doing before he met Holmes, but he could easily spot one major difference. Now he knew what he had lost.

He closed his eyes and began waiting for sleep to free him from the prison of overpowering loneliness.

His nap must have lasted no longer than four hours, but he felt slightly better anyway. He thought he may even go out in the evening, which he didn't do in a while. Watson never stayed in bed after waking up because he couldn't stand the overwhelming wave of emotions and memories which were occupying his mind while starring at the wall. Limiting the opportunities to delve into dwelling upon the past was his hope for mental stabilisation, however, he highly doubted he would ever find peace again.

Wiping his eyes, Watson stood up quickly and put his slippers on.

Suddenly, a gentle noise caught his attention. Having experienced a countless number of dangerous situations, John wasn't excessively afraid but he didn't lose caution either. He slowly turned around to see what had caused the noise.

What he saw strongly shook his body and almost took away his consciousness. Watson faltered and had to lean on the wall not to fall down. His heart started beating in a furious pace and his hands were shaking.

It was _him_.

John could recognise this man everywhere. He cast a penetrating glance at him, slowly losing breath.

John was absorbing every detail of his appearance. Everything was on the right place;everything was the same. The long, dark coat, the blue scarf, the wavy hair falling on the pale face... And the bright, intense eyes - the eyes of a genius, whom John never doubted him to be - were fixed on the doctor's face. The last time Waston saw him, his stiff body was laying on the street, covered with blood and now he was standing in front of him, safe and sound, as if nothing had happenned.

"I watched you sleeping," said Sherlock Holmes. His deep voice hasn't changed but was more emotional, revealing that he wasn't as composed as always. "I didn't want to wake you up."

John opened his mouth to answer but couldn't say a word.

"I am back, John. I am alive..."

Watson dreamt about it dozens of times. He dreamt that Sherlock would enter the room, tell that he is back and everything would be as before. But now, when it eventually came true, he was so taken aback that he didn't know what to do.

Suddenly John's face turned red and he felt a coming burst of anger. He began catching every single item within reach and throwing it at Sherlock with all his strength. Holmes was trying to avoid getting hurt but some cups and books beat him strongly.

"John?"

"Why?" shouted John, looking for more weapons. "Just tell me why! Do you know what you've done to me? Was it a game? I've always believed you weren't fake. I always have and I always will. But why have you lied to me and left me alone? 'Alone protects me', that's right, yes?"

John weakened and dropped a bottle he intended to throw at Sherlock.

Holmes came closer to fidgety Watson and laid his palm on his shoulder. He put everything in this gesture. The whole content of his soul, all the emotions he had to suppress for long months were transformed into this one longed-for touch.

John trembled. When he saw Sherlock falling from the roof of the hospital his heart was torn apart. Now he felt that somebody dosed him with a magical cure.

"No, John. 'Friends protect people'." Sherlock sighed, trying to control emotions, which were bursting inside of him. "This is one more miracle. For you".

John's face depicted his inner struggle. He closed his eyes and wrinkled his forehead.

"So... You knew... You've been so close all the time, haven't you? Oh, Sherlock... How could you stand my pain and not put an end to it? You gave me everything I have and then just left me..."

"It was my life or your life. My identity or your safety. Me or you ." Sherlock's voice was gradually raising and his eyes were still fixed on Watson's face. "What could have I chosen?"

"Oh, God..." John's body began getting flabby as if he was about to faint. "I don't understand..."

"I'll explain everything." Sherlock smiled gently. "But first... All I want to know, all that counts for me is whether you've forgiven me."

Sherlock lowered his gaze, waiting for the words that were supposed to define his future. He started playing with his scarf but he couldn't help examining John's physical reactions to predict his decision.

Watson quickly recollected the memories connected with Holmes, beginning from the day when he saved his life hardly knowing him, to the moment when he was taking his pulse after he'd jumped from the roof. Then he came back to the days when there was no hope, no light and no motivation - there was no Sherlock.

There was only one answer that he could give him.

John straightened up and took a deep breath.

"Get out."

Sherlock Holmes, always composed and lukewarm, freezed.

"What?..." the detective split out with a considerable difficulty.

Watson swallowed and added:

"Get out and come back, let's do it once again. Properly."

Sherlock, unable to speak, did as his friend wished.

After a short while he slowly opened the door and stood still.

"John, I am real. Thank you for your faith in me, you weren't mistaken. Now I am back. And nothing is going to change this."

Shortly after finishing the sentence, Sherlock felt on himself a warm, tight hug, which he willingly reciprocated. Their bodies unified in a brotherly embrace made a bridge above the months of loneliness, grief and seperation. The bridge between what connected them and what waited for them in the future.

Only after a while was Sherlock able to say something:

"The game is on again, John".

Zeal which appeared in Watson's eyes after these words ensured Sherlock that nothing had really changed and his friend would again be accompanying him in his andventures. Their adventures.


End file.
